


Pas de Deux

by welcomesquad



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Ballet, Ballet Dancer Sherlock, Dancer John, Fluff, M/M, Pas de deux, not between john and sherlock, written by a person who knows very little about ballet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-07
Updated: 2015-11-07
Packaged: 2018-04-30 09:47:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5159210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/welcomesquad/pseuds/welcomesquad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based off of doddleoddle's song Pas de Deux </p><p>Sherlock's a dancer<br/>Just turned sixteen<br/>Stares at boys who wear glasses<br/>And little dimples smiles<br/>Doesn't know what it means</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pas de Deux

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Pas de Deux](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/154001) by Dodie Clark. 



Sherlock's a dancer  
Just turned sixteen  
Stares at boys who wear glasses  
And little dimples smiles  
Doesn't know what it means

Here comes Victor  
Glasses and all  
Beakers in hand and ambushes planned  
And they're just about to fall

Sherlock's walking on rivers  
Victor lifts him above  
Sherlock's so full of longing  
And so full of love

Things get a bit louder  
Victor's focused on plans  
His smiles replaced with an aggressive face  
But Sherlock still holds his hand

Now Sherlock's given up dancing  
Victor says he's too old  
He says, "Focus on me"  
But Sherlock disagrees  
While he does as he's told

Now Sherlock's walking on eggshells  
And when push goes to shove  
And he's so full of longing  
And not full of love

Back to the studio  
Where he was told not to go  
Feeling sick with guilt  
The tension builds as he opens the door

And what else would be there?  
But a trusting pair  
Of strong bodies, lacking in worries  
Preforming a Pas De Deux

I was not right  
This is what's right  
Souls, hearts, breaths  
All intertwined  
And I won't be defined by him  
Anymore

And he's walking on eggshells  
And when push goes to shove  
And he's so full of longing  
And not full of love

So good by to Victor  
But hello to John  
John doesn't where glasses  
But John loves how he dances  
And he'll hold his hand

Yes, Sherlock's a dancer  
With plans of his own  
You'll see him and his partner  
Preforming a Pas de Deux  
In the old studio

Sherlock's walking on rivers  
John lifts him above  
Sherlock's full up of longing  
And so full of love

They're walking on rivers  
John lifts him above  
They've said goodbye to the longing  
And now they're so full of love

They're so full of love

~*~

 _Sherlock's a dancer_  
Sherlock whirls around the room, feet light and fast and body bending to the air around it. He becomes more a form of energy flying headless of gravity than a dancer. A small smile bursting with happiness rests on his face as sweat flies in the air seconds after he does. The spring sun vibrant and outshone by him.

 _Just turned sixteen_  
The school is not kind to anyone who's different, least of all Sherlock. That does not matter to him. When he dances worries slip from his shoulders, torn away by the fast moving air. He oscillates between dread and freedom everyday, between the grey walls of the school and the vibrant movements of dance.

 _Stares at boy's who where glasses_  
His eyes follow the moves of the boy in the studio before him. The curves and angles of his body forming a beautiful symphony of movement to Sherlock's mind. When the music comes to a stop and the boy begins to pack up, the glasses he slides onto his nose makes Sherlock's body start with something new. They meet eyes in the mirror.

 _And little dimpled smiles_  
The boys cheeks pucker with a smile shoots at Sherlock through the mirror. There's a glint in his eye as he exits the studio, walking past Sherlock with a soft brush of air.

 _Doesn't know what it means_  
His brain moves as fast as his feet and legs after the boy is gone. Questions stumbling over each other. Questions about himself, about the boy, about the meaning of the dimpled smile and the glasses.

 _Here comes Victor_  
The boy joins him one day in the studio. He slips in without causing a single falter in Sherlock's dance, slowly weaving himself into what has already existed until there is no distinction between pre planned and spontaneity. The air is ecstatic. "I'm Victor." He says when the energy stills.

 _Glasses and all_  
The light in the studio is darkening with fall when Sherlock slides the glasses onto Victor's nose as a blush grows on his own cheeks. Victor smiles softly, catching Sherlock's hand in its retreat and pressing a small budding kiss into his palm.

 _Beakers in hand and ambushes planned_  
The liquid shakes and steams in the beaker at the same time Sherlock's skin breaks out in gooseflesh when Victor kisses him on the back of the neck. The small smile that blossoms on Sherlock’s face is seen by the beaker in his hand and felt by Victor a moment later by the boy's lips against his own. The kiss is like a small dance, the relation of air between them dictated by tongues and teeth instead of arms and legs.

 _And they're just about to fall_  
The tug on Sherlock's chest when he sees Victor seems to draw them together and fill the air when they dance. They balance beautifully on the edge of something new.

_Sherlock's walking on rivers_   
_Victor lifts him above_   
_Sherlock's so full of longing_   
_And so full of love_

_Things get a bit louder_  
The light in the studio turns to the gray of winter as Victor gesticulates sharply with an energy Sherlock is familiar with from school. The air is encroaching, assaulting his skin as Victor dances aggressively toward Sherlock. Sherlock feels the same tug in his chest but it's changed in a way he's not yet noticed.

 _Victor’s focused on plans_  
The application to a far away University sits on the table in front of them as Victor holds him close. His words in Sherlock's ear are soft and promising. When Sherlock questions his own place in the plan, the word stay soft and promising but have a different current underneath them. The feeling in his chest as they move away from their homes and the old studio is similar the kind that drew him to Victor but now draws him back to lights they're driving away from.

 _His smiles replaced with an aggressive face_  
Sherlock returns at the time Victor wanted him to. He says the things he knows will make Victor happy but each time the tug in his chest makes his throat want to close. He seems to feel the air less and less but Victor laughs in a biting way when he mentions it and tells him to smile. Victor's actions take on a different air. Sherlock shrinks to allow Victor more space, that is what will make Victor happy.

_But Sherlock still holds his hand_

_Now Sherlock's given up dancing_  
The color is gone from his movements and has been replaced with the gray of the winter sky. A winter that seems to be lasting years. His dancing took up too much space anyway. Victor needs room more than he does. The tug is his chest when his eyes light on Victor, has definitely changed though he's not quite sure how.

 _Victor says he's too old_  
He smiles as he moves the half-eaten food away from Sherlock. Sherlock looks at him in confusion to which Victor pats Sherlock's flat stomach with a raised eyebrow. Victor takes care of him, making sure he stays fit. Victor suggests a diet or an exercise or raises an eyebrow when Sherlock reaches for a dessert. The tug in his chest urges him to look good for Victor but when he tries the pull is only stronger.

 _He says, "Focus on me."_  
When Sherlock tries to explain his beliefs about the Carl Powers case, Victor's face turns an odd shade of red. He gets rid of all of Sherlock's evidence and doesn't let him go out of the flat for three days. "I don't want you getting distracted." He says softly into Sherlock's hair as he holds Sherlock to him. The tug in Sherlock's chest pulls tears from his eyes. "Hush, Sherlock." He says. "Just focus on me."

 _But Sherlock disagrees_  
There's something wrong, Sherlock knows. The pull hurts his chest and he wants nothing more than to leave the flat, to dance, to have something that is his own. To be free.

 _While he does as he's told_  
Sherlock nods against Victor's chest and tries to hid from him in the curve of the man's body.

 _Now Sherlock's walking on eggshells_  
Sherlock has been saying sorry a lot in the past month. He is too needy but too independent. He spends too much time outside the flat and doesn't focus enough on Victor. He is too fat and his age is beginning to show. Sherlock does not understand any of this. The clock and the scale would say otherwise but Victor insists so Sherlock tries to be better for him.

 _And when push goes to shove_  
Sherlock had left the meager information he'd been able to scrounge from newspapers about a case on the table in a moment of distraction. Victor had seen and had turned the flat into a place of danger in the space of a minute. Sherlock was selfish and childish to think he was actually smart enough to do any good to the world. He had to focus on Victor. Sherlock's "But-" was interrupted by the sound of skin hitting skin and a flash of burning heat on his cheek. He sat on the ground cradling his aching body after Victor had tired of him and left, watching the eternal winter sky darken to night.

 _And he's so full of longing_  
He misses the colors and the old studio. He sees in his mind's eye, the sixteen year old boy flying through the air, the spring sun vibrant through the window. The tug pulls tears from his eyes as he thinks of the young boy as he begins to apply makeup to his face and arms to hide the bruises. All the air seems to squeeze out of him leaving him painfully empty and unable to catch his breath.

 _And not full of love_  
Victor yells at him for crying too much. He says Sherlock doesn't smile enough. He says Sherlock is still gaining weight when Sherlock's stomach has been empty for what feels like weeks. He says Sherlock should is too stupid to see the world for what it is. The tug in Sherlock's chest when he sees Victor is pain and fear.

 _Back to the studio_  
The day Victor is set to graduate from University, Sherlock is able to slip away in the chaos. He runs to the train station and is crying with a painful mix of pain and relief as the train slips away from the station. The tug only gets stronger, as he puts miles between them but instead of pulling him back it is dragging him toward relief, to the old studio.

 _Where he was told not to go_  
The guilt is heavy in his chest but is overpowered by the fear. He knows when he comes back his body will be painted with blues, greens, and yellows with a gloss of pain that signify his relationship with Victor. The bus that is so familiar from the bright days of childhood pulls up to the stop and he walks on as if in a dream.

 _Feeling sick with guilt_  
He nearly gets off twice and a text to Victor with an explanation and apology rests, nearly sent, on the bottom of his phone screen. His thumb hovers over the send button. The entire ride has he tries to keep himself from being sick in the back of the buss.

 _The tension builds as he opens the door_  
Something in Sherlock seems to break as he looks up at the old studio, brick walls cracked and abused by time. He rests his hand against the walls and feels intimately connected with this crippled, old building. As he walks down the hall, the pressure in his chest is almost unbearable. He looks at the door of the familiar studio. He turns around three times before walking up and just resting his head against the door as his world seems to shatter down to just him and the room behind the door. He takes a shuttering breath and turns the doorknob.

 _And what else would be there?_  
The studio he sees in the moment he opens the door is not the one that is in front of him in the present but the one that he danced in years previously. He sees the shadow of the spring light falling through the window and the room full of air waiting to cushion his every move.

 _But a trusting pair_  
The room from the past resolves itself with the room of the present like two opaque slides sliding over each other. The spring light stays in the window but instead it now lights a different scene; one of two bodies floating through the pillows of air and painting the room with the colors of their jumps and lifts.

 _Of strong bodies, lacking in worries_  
The woman is grace with strength. Her arms trailing behind and above of their ball of beautiful energy. She spins herself toward her partner, cushioning her movement in his own momentum before using it to cast herself into the next movement. The man is powerful in a gentle way that is foreign to Sherlock. He is comfortable and caring in his power, using it to help, not to hinder. Using it to lift his partner to greater heights instead of using it to keep her down where she is close to him. The smiles of both of their faces outshine the spring sun.

 _Performing a Pas De Deux_  
He staggers to the chair that always rest in the corner of the room, his hard edges seeming out of place in the room full of sinuous movement and grace and gentility. His body is shaking. Doesn't know what it means. But the fullness inside as he watches the couple glide, is something he's not felt for a very long time.

 _I was not right_  
When the man comes over, after their done, he asks if Sherlock is okay and Sherlock can't think what to say. He sees color in the world around him for the first time in years. The blue of the man eyes seeming to draw him near but pulls away out of fear

 _This is what's right_  
He watches them dance through most of the day. By the time they're done he feels like he's patched together again. It's a breath of fresh air, to see the trust and the beauty that's created in that small studio.

 _Souls, hearts, breaths; All intertwined_  
Sherlock turns off his phone and watches them dance for the entire weekend until the brush of the air against his skin is too tempting for him to refuse anymore.

 _And I won't be defined by him_  
The man comes to the studio without his partner one day and turns to Sherlock instead. He holds out his hand and asks him to dance with him today. He looks at the battered, old ballet shoes the man offers with some chagrin and he fights back the fear. The shoes fit him perfectly inside and out so with a smile he slips them on his feet and the man draws him near.

 _Anymore_  
And suddenly they're dancing and Sherlock's heart’s beating fast. Sherlock whirls around the room, feet light in the air as the man helps him all the way through. The pressure in his chest begins to disappear and that small little smile begins to appear. When they dance to a rest the man grins at him and begins to laugh and soon Sherlock does too. "I'm John." He says when the laughter stills.

 _And he's walking on eggshells_  
When John asks him to dinner, Sherlock nearly refuses but it's been three weeks and they've danced nearly every afternoon. Sherlock says yes with a hesitancy John seems to pick up on. When they sit down and the waiter asks him what he'd like to order Sherlock feel a sudden resurgence of that tug on his chest. He feels suddenly uncomfortable in his own body. When John insists him order something because he's "nothing but bones" Sherlock tries to understand his motives. When Sherlock does nothing but play with his food, John claims he will personally supervise him until he eats at least half the meal and it's then that Sherlock begins to cry.

 _And when push goes to shove_  
Sherlock shares his story about Victor with John at first out of necessity to explain his sudden crying in the restaurant. As Sherlock tells him about Victor's instance on Sherlock's weight loss John's fists begin to clench and he begins to breath heavily with anger. Sherlock scrambles away apologizing and full of fear. It is then John's turn to begin to cry as he calm Sherlock and holds him near. "I would never hurt you, Sherlock. Never. Do you understand that? I need you to. It is so wrong…so wrong. No one deserves what that- what he put you through. I will never hurt you." John says into his hair and Sherlock clings to his chest as his body shakes with emotion.

 _And he's so full of longing_  
Sherlock loves the feeling of dancing with John. He feels as though they are always in the middle of a discussion whether it's with actual words or with their bodies in the old studio. The conversation is soft and kind as they continue to grow trust and respect between each other. And with each kind word and gentility John shows him the angrier Sherlock gets at Victor.

 _And not full of love_  
He stands outside the door where he used to live with Victor. He had planned on talking to him directly, telling him to his face that they would never see each other again if he could help it and that he hated him for what he'd done. Now though, as he stands in front of the door, Sherlock felt the familiar pressure on his chest and he can't quite seem to breathe. Sherlock's phone buzzes in his hand. "Are you alright. I love you. -JW" Sherlock looks and the text and feels full all of a sudden. He looks at the flat that held such torturous years for him and smiles slightly.

 _So goodbye to Victor_  
When Sherlock leaves, the only evidence he was there at all was a note taped to the door of Victor's flat saying simply, "Never again will I let someone like you happen to me - SH."

 _But hello to John_  
John welcomes him back to their flat with open arms and tells Sherlock that he is proud of him. They walk to the old studio hand in hand, dancing in their own way before they even get into the building.

 _John doesn't wear glasses, but John loves how he dances_  
John twirls Sherlock to the center of the room and then stands back to watch him, chest swelling with pride. Sherlock whirls around the room, feet light and fast and body bending to the air around it. He becomes more a form of energy flying headless of gravity than a dancer. A small smile bursting with happiness rests on his face as sweat flies in the air seconds after he does. The summer sun vibrant and outshone by both him and the man with the blue eyes sweeping again in to join his dance.

 _And he'll hold his hand_  
The world swirls in front of his eyes as they fly around the room, the colors in the air obscuring his vision until the only constant in Sherlock's whole world is John's hand in his and the press of John’s palm around his waist. The laughter starts from deep within him until it is rumbling out of his mouth and, turning and weaving through the air, becomes a part of their dance.

_Yes, Sherlock's a dancer_   
_With plans of his own_   
_You'll see him and his partner_   
_Performing a Pas de Deux_   
_In the old studio_

_Sherlock's walking on rivers_   
_John lifts him above_   
_Sherlock's full up of longing_   
_And so full of love_

_They're walking on rivers_   
_John lifts him above_   
_They've said goodbye to the longing_   
_And now they're so full of love_

_They're so full of love_

**Author's Note:**

> So as you can probably tell I absolutely adore Pas de Deux by Dodie Clark. I want to emphasize that any of the verse was not my creation and that all I really did was substitute names and pronouns. 
> 
> This was kind a new way to write a fic for me so let me know if it worked or was a train wreck. Who knows?
> 
> Thanks for reading! (especially if it was a train wreck)


End file.
